


when he died

by idioglossia



Category: Magisterium Series - Holly Black & Cassandra Clare
Genre: Aaron deals with Call's death, Alternate Universe - Tamara Saves Aaron, Angst, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Probably Inaccurate Depiction of Grief, References to Depression, implied calron if you squint, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 05:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20222512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idioglossia/pseuds/idioglossia
Summary: The moment of Call’s death was vivid and obvious. His face went slack, his chest stopped moving, his breathing now forever halted, and Aaron swore he could feel his heart stop with it.ORTamara saves Aaron instead of Call.





	when he died

**Author's Note:**

> CALL, BABY, I SWEAR I DON'T MEAN TO KEEP KILLING YOU. Blease forgive me.
> 
> I swear my next priority is chapter two of "the people who care". Anyways, the title is from "When He Died" by Lemon Demon, which, while a surprisingly funny bop, has nothing to do with this fic. Enjoy!!

_the seconds before_  
  
Aaron could just barely see it coming. The white beam, the Alkaheist’s power, was coming straight towards him and Call- this was it. He looked tentatively at his best friend’s face. Was this really the last thing he’d ever see? He was okay with that. Looking at Call wasn’t such a bad way to go.  
  
The next thing he knew, he was down in the dirt, pebbles jamming into his forehead and chin. There was a heavy weight on top of Aaron- _Tamara_, he realized. She had tackled him. He turned his head as best as he could. Had she saved Call too?  
  
For a moment, Aaron thought she had, somehow. Call was just standing there, but he didn’t look dead or anything. His eyes were kind of blank, like he was seeing far off into the distance. But then he started to fall, almost in slow motion. Aaron thought he had to be dreaming. This was the kind of stupid thing that only happened in movies.  
  
But just in case, he scrambled over to where he laid, trying not to hurt Tamara too badly in the process. Call was breathing, but it was clear that he was in pain. His chest heaved like he wasn’t getting enough air and his eyes flickered about, never landing on anything for more than a second.  
  
“Call?” Aaron asked, ignoring the way it sounded frantic. “Call, are you okay?”  
  
“I-” His eyes finally locked onto Aaron’s face. Call grabbed his arm. “What am I seeing? Aaron, what am I seeing?”  
  
“Call,” he said again, trying for firm and failing miserably. “What’s wrong? You need to tell me if you need help.”  
  
“You can’t save me,” Call said. Or Call’s body said. It sounded nothing like Aaron’s friend did. “You- you _can't_.”  
  
_then_  
  
The moment of Call’s death was vivid and obvious. His face went slack, his chest stopped moving, his breathing now forever halted, and Aaron swore he could feel his heart stop with it.  
  
_the seconds and minutes after_  
  
Aaron didn’t get a moment after that. He heard Alex moving, turned his head and saw him straightening up, a delighted shock in his eyes. He started to laugh, a deep, ugly thing coming from his chest.  
  
Aaron decided then and there that he hated him more than he had ever hated anyone.  
  
“All that,” he laughed, almost doubling back over from the force of it. “And the Enemy of Death died at my hands. That was all it took!”  
  
Without thinking, Aaron lashed out. He grabbed and hurled a rock from the ground and it flew, hitting Alex in the head. He didn’t fall, but Aaron could see blood.  
  
_Good_, he thought. Alex deserved to suffer. He deserved to feel all the pain that Aaron could feel, coursing through his blood, tugging at his soul like Call once had. Rising, he let flames flicker into existence just above his palm and launched that at Alex too.  
  
He barely dodged, clearly drained from taking, no, _stealing_ Call’s power. It meant that he wasn’t ready for Aaron dashing across the clearing and punching him full in the face. The crunch that came when he made contact with Alex’s nose was the best thing that had happened to him all night.  
  
With Alex on the ground again and a swift kick delivered to his ribs, Aaron became more aware of his surroundings. He could hear the nearby sound of people- the mages, if the familiar voice of Master Rufus was anything to go by. Tamara was just behind him, and-  
  
And Call.  
  
A fresh wave of pain crashed over Aaron, erasing everything else in its wake. He wanted to scream, to throw up, to cry, to _stop feeling like this, please_. Instead, he sunk to the floor of the forest and focused very hard on not panicking, to little success.  
  
At some point, Master Rufus approached him and tried to talk to him, but no matter what he said, Aaron couldn’t understand a word. Eventually, he gave up and just handed him a blanket. Aaron managed with his clumsy fingers to wrap it around his shoulders.  
  
They took Alex away in some weird mage handcuffs, his face swollen already. He noted with little pleasure that it looked like he had managed to break his nose. The mages made Tamara take him back- she was the only one who didn’t try to say something to him, just took him firmly by the arm and started walking. Aaron gave her the dignity of pretending he didn’t see her cry on the way back.  
  
_two hours after_  
  
When Alastair Hunt arrived at the Magisterium, Aaron was pretty sure he let the whole of Virginia know about it. He had watched the bereaved father march into Master Rufus’ office from his spot in the chair just outside, the blanket still held gently around him. There had been a lot of yelling, mainly on Alastair’s part. He didn’t really catch much of it, but he did hear the tail end.  
  
“I trusted you once. That fucking _failed_, Rufus. Then, the second I trust you again, my _only son_ dies on _your_ watch? You’re goddamn lucky I don’t try to sue the hell out of this so-called _school_. If you’ll remember, I didn’t want him to come here in the first place,” Mr. Hunt spat as he opened the door to leave. Aaron could just see Master Rufus on the inside, looking old and tired. Then, the door slammed closed and Alastair exhaled, looking for all the world like he was ready to drop asleep still standing.  
  
After a beat had passed, he composed himself again, rolling his shoulders and straightening his neck. There was a fire back in his eyes, a will to keep going in Call’s name that Aaron just couldn't scrape up right now.  
  
“Alright,” Alastair murmured to himself. “That’s done.”  
  
He seemed surprised to see Aaron sitting next to the door, doing a slight double-take. He did seem to be glad though, coming to stand near him. “Hello, Aaron.”  
  
“Hi, Alastair.” His voice came out as a weak whisper. Aaron had barely spoken since the forest. Since he’d seen Callum’s already half-dead body fall. It still didn’t feel real. He was waiting for someone to tell him that it had been a horrible dream, that Alex hadn’t really been working for Master Joseph. Somewhere, deep inside, he knew that it was never coming, but Aaron had that part shoved deep, deep down and he wasn’t about to let it come up now.  
  
Call’s father inhaled, steadying himself. He placed a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened out there. You- you meant a lot to Callum. I don’t know what would have happened to him if you hadn’t been there for him all those other times.”  
  
He ran an absent hand through his already mused hair. “I’d offer to let you stay with me this summer again, but I can see why that would be hard on you. Just know it’s there, if you want it.”  
  
“I- I think I’d like that. But-” Aaron drew the slightly itchy blanket closer, already dreading the answer to a question he hadn’t asked. “-how could you not blame me?”  
  
“There no reason to blame you, Aaron. You’re a little kid in a world of big adults with big, ugly problems that they put on your shoulders all because of some power. And just like that, you think, _I should have been better and that would have stopped it_, instead of _I never should have had to do this in the first place_. They did it to Constantine, they did it to Verity, and they did it to you.” Alastair looked intense. It occurred to Aaron suddenly that he was in a pyjama top and jeans that had clearly been painted in at some point. It just rubbed the shock of Call’s death in more. “And I’m not blaming that on you. I’ve seen what that can do to people. And Call-”  
  
There Alastair’s voice broke into a sob, and he had to take a deep breath to continue speaking. Aaron rested a hand of his own on top of the one resting on his shoulder.  
  
“Call was your counterweight. I watched Constantine after he lost Jericho- it wasn’t pretty. There’s no way I could blame a _child_ for that.”  
  
Something ran down Aaron’s cheek and he brought his free hand up to his face. He realized he was crying. “I just- I feel like I should have _done_ something. Grabbed him too when Tamara knocked me down. It should have been Call who made it. He was- you know.”  
  
_Special_. That’s what he’d wanted to say. But that wasn’t it- Call should have lived because he was _Callum_, and that was enough.  
  
Alastair nodded, eyes understanding. “I do. Or I’d like to think I do. Remember that you’re welcome to come visit our- _my_ house any time you’d like.”  
  
Aaron nodded, and Alastair left, off to parts unknown, on a crusade in the name of his dead son.  
  
_three hours after_  
  
“Anything you can tell us would help,” The assemblyman kept saying. Aaron stayed quiet. Master Rufus had accepted the blanket when he had returned it to him, but now he was wishing that he hadn’t. It was chilly in the office, and Aaron would have like something to do other than not talking. Of course, talking felt like an even worse option than that, so it was a lose-lose situation for him.  
  
He could tell that the assemblyman was getting annoyed with his silence. His brow was pinching, his moments of pause growing shorter and shorter.  
  
Aaron didn’t care. His mind was consumed with trying to rationalize that Call was really never going to be his counterweight ever again. That when he reached out to tug on the solid, strong rope that they’d woven together, there would only be mental space and open air. It was bringing a new kind of pain, one that he’d never felt before, not at his father’s hazy trial, not when he’d gotten into a fight with Zachery Timms and broken his shoulder, not when he hadn’t eaten in two days.  
  
At least he could be pretty sure that Call wasn’t in any pain.  
  
So he picked at the edge of his blue tunic and let the irritated assemblyman fade into background noise. He remembered what the body had looked like- what the body had _felt_ like. Call had always looked a bizarre sort of beautiful when Aaron had seen his soul. It was like he had an extra colour cone and suddenly he could see shades that no one else could. But when he’d died, there had been less than nothing. Negative space where a soul had once been.  
  
The door opened with a creak and Aaron glanced over to see Master Rufus, clearly exhausted but holding strong, stride in. “Aaron, please come with me.”  
  
He was only too happy to leave, ignoring the irate spluttering of the assemblyman behind him. Master Rufus didn’t bother to try to make him talk, just led him back to the room that wasn’t really theirs.  
  
“You can sleep in a little if you want. We’re not having any classes for a few days,” Rufus informed him just before he left. He sounded weary. Aaron nodded, but he didn’t think that the master saw.  
  
_eleven hours after_  
  
Aaron discovered rapidly that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep for very long. It had been a struggle to fall asleep at all, even with the adrenaline comedown that came around four hours after the fight had ended. When he had finally managed to sleep, he dreamed of Call, his final words echoing into darkness where Aaron couldn't find him. He woke up drenched in sweat, his sheets on the floor, his throat sore. Tamara stared back at him, her eyes wet and wide with fear.  
  
“You were screaming,” she whispered, her normally steady voice tremulous. “For Call. You were- I thought you were dying.”  
  
He didn’t say that he felt like he had. He didn’t say that he felt ready to. “Oh. I’m sorry, Tamara. I- I don’t think I’m going back to bed, if that makes you feel better.”  
  
She laughed, a desperate thing that verged on being a sob. “I mean, not really, but thanks for trying.”  
  
They sat together in silence for a little bit, then Tamara returned to her own room. While he couldn’t be sure, Aaron was pretty sure that neither of them slept again that night.  
  
Now, it was morning and he was ready to faint. Still, Aaron dragged himself out of bed and mechanically made himself get dressed. Havoc was standing in the main room and Aaron petted him lightly on the head. Neither of them were particularly enthusiastic about it.  
  
Tamara emerged a few minutes after Aaron did, her eyes red from tears. He knew his own were probably much the same. Wordlessly, they left with Havoc in tow for the Refectory, Aaron ignoring the stares and Tamara glaring right back at anyone who dared to. It was enough to keep the others away, at least for now.  
  
He ate fast, scarfing down his food, not out of hunger, but out of a desire to leave behind the many eyes Aaron could feel on him. It was like when he had become a Makar, except this felt much, much worse. It was uncomfortable, and he couldn’t help but feel like they were all blaming him for the loss of Call. Alastair’s words last night felt hollow in the light of day and the weight of what had really happened was beginning to settle heavier on Aaron’s already burdened shoulders.  
  
Jasper slid in quietly with them as they left, not saying anything. He looked like he might have been crying, but not recently. His hair wasn’t quite unkempt, but it certainly wasn’t as coiffed as it usually was. In Jasper terms, that likely meant he was in a state of total disarray.  
  
“I-” he started, just as they were about to split up, Tamara and Call going to their room and Jasper to his. “I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I’m... sorry.”  
  
Aaron nodded. Tamara placed a hand on his shoulder for a moment, her eyes dry but lip quivering. Then, they parted, silent once more.  
  
_three days after_  
  
He still didn’t feel like talking to the assemblypeople who kept interviewing him, asking him about Call and Alex, about why Alex had gone for Call instead of Aaron. (_He hadn’t_, he’d explained there. _We were supposed to both be hit_.) He didn’t have much a choice but to talk, unless he felt like being considered a traitor, which he didn’t.  
  
Really, all Aaron wanted to do was lie in bed and sleep until the sun exploded. He was constantly tired now, with his sleep being routinely interrupted with nightmares of Call. Call, dying in his arms, his voice deep and unfamiliar. Call, telling him he should have tried harder to save him. Call, joining Alex and becoming the Enemy of Death. Call, Call, _Call_.  
  
Aaron was sick of thinking about Call, but he’d be lying if he said he truly wanted to stop. He didn’t want to let go of a single second that they’d spent together.  
  
Today, they were grilling him about why they hadn’t waited to talk to a master or someone else- did they know nothing? Usually, if they waited, they or someone else was likely to die. Simple as that. Still, Aaron sat through the questions, answering mechanically, and trying not to get too annoyed. He was mostly failing at that last part.  
  
Right now, he had two emotions. One of them was boiling rage and the other was total apathy. Currently, he was apathetic, with the rage just starting to bleed through. Once it overtook the apathy, Aaron had no idea what he would do. He just knew that it wouldn’t be pretty.  
  
As the hour dragged on, the assemblywoman who was questioning him changed topics a few times, sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. But as the interrogation session came to a close, she turned the questioning to places it shouldn’t have gone.  
  
“Now, before you leave,” she said, leaning forward on the desk. “I have one question for you. Was Callum in any way affiliated with the Enemy?”  
  
Aaron saw red. “Call gets _murdered_ by one of the Enemy’s minions, whose _dead head_ he stole, and you’re asking me if he was _affiliated_ with the _Enemy_?”  
  
“Now, Aaron-”  
  
“Shut up. I’m not talking anymore.” He stood and turned, feeling angry tears starting to fill his eyes. Aaron ignored the calls of the woman, choosing instead to storm off, swiping messily at his eyes. Quickly, he arrived at his room, kicking his boots off so hard they hit the stone wall with a loud thump.  
  
He sat on his bed, and that was when the tears really started to flow. It wasn’t _fair_. Callum shouldn’t have died, and he certainly shouldn’t have to deal with people asking if he was secretly a servant of Constantine’s.  
  
But there wasn’t much he could do. He might have been the Makar, but Aaron couldn’t turn back time, or force everyone to believe Callum was as innocent as he really was.  
  
So he sat there, a ball of tears, rage, and pain on his bed and told himself that it was going to be okay, even if he didn’t know what that looked like anymore.  
  
_twelve days after_  
  
They let Alastair take him home before the school year really ended. Aaron passed through the Gate of Creation earlier than the rest of their year, along with Tamara. It had felt bittersweet without Call there on the other side.  
  
The car ride to the Hunt’s house was awkward, with neither Aaron or Alastair wanting to talk but trying to fill the space anyways. Eventually, they had both gave up and Mr. Hunt put on the radio. He spent the rest of the ride looking distantly out the window, trapped in his own mind.  
  
The house was largely the same as when Aaron had left it the summer past. The kitchen was in mild disarray, there were books on mechanics everywhere and the occasional tool scattered about. Despite that, it felt less lived-in than when he had been there last. He guessed it was that Alastair spent more time in the garage and his antique store than inside his house proper.  
  
Aaron placed his small bag of belongings down and took off his shoes. Havoc butted his head against his leg and he petted it absently. This was so… the same, and yet not. He was starting to think it had been a bad idea to come here instead of going with Tamara, but he didn’t like the idea of sitting through all those parties that her family threw and took him to any better. All those people pretending they knew what the loss of a counterweight felt like.  
  
To put it briefly, he understood why Constantine had gone crazy and tried to bring Jericho back at all costs. It was like a part of Aaron’s soul had been torn away from him, and now that he didn’t have the comforting null of his numbness, it was there in full force, tearing away at him from within.  
  
“Well,” Alastair said, setting down his own small bag. “You can take Call’s room if you want, or we can work something else out.”  
  
“I don’t know how I’m going to react,” He admitted. “I don’t think I’m handling everything very well.”  
  
“You don’t have to decide now. We can set up the cot in the living room just before you go to sleep.”  
  
“Thanks,” Aaron said.  
  
_twenty-two days after_  
  
Being at the Hunts' house was bad and nice at the same time. Aaron had no idea where he would be without Alastair’s reminders to do usually automatic tasks, like brushing his teeth, or changing his shirt, or getting out of bed. It was also a comfort to have Havoc to walk and snuggle and play with. On the other hand, Alastair was clearly in as bad a state as Aaron was, and it felt somewhat torturous to be around so many reminders of Call.  
  
It was a bizarre limbo of good and pain at the same time. Walking Havoc was good; seeing Call’s old school pictures was painful. Helping Alastair with the car and other machines was good; his quiet comments about Call were painful. He did like them though- the story about the naked mole-rat had been so _Call_ that he’d had to laugh, even as he felt like crying.  
  
_twenty-seven days after_  
  
“I think you should see a therapist,” Alastair had said casually over breakfast. They were both eating cereal, and Aaron didn’t like it very much, but it was better than nothing.  
  
He wasn’t quite back to feeling apathetic, but it felt similar. He was hollowed out from the inside, the hole that held his connection to Call growing and growing until it was all he was.  
  
“Okay,” he said, not looking up from his bowl. Aaron could tell he had added too much milk. He ate it anyway, placing a soggy spoonful into his mouth and chewing briefly before swallowing. “You probably should too, then.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Alastair said after a moment. “I’ll do some research.”  
  
“Okay,” he said, monotonously bringing the spoon back up to his mouth. Aaron really didn’t care either way.  
  
_twenty-nine days after_  
  
The Magisterium had requested that they be left in charge of Callum’s funeral. Alastair had accepted, on the condition that he be given a say on the details. Aaron suspected it was because he couldn’t stand to look at Call’s body. He didn’t blame the father. Call’s lifeless body still haunted his dreams.  
  
He’d debated whether or not he really wanted to come to the funeral, but in the end, his desire to see Call, even dead, one last time had won. So now Aaron was standing awkwardly beside Alastair in the suit he’d worn to the celebration at the beginning of the year, watching as Call’s casket was placed in the earth. Tamara was across from him, her face largely blank but her eyes blinking away tears.  
  
So many of the people here never knew anything about Call other than the fact he was a Makar. He would have hated that, hated that they were moulding his image into some angel who was nothing like the real, rough and tumble Callum Hunt. Aaron hated it too. If they’d really loved Call, they would have loved all of him, even the angry parts, even the stubborn parts, even the parts Call hadn’t understood.  
  
When the reception started, Aaron left for the bathroom. He didn’t cry, no matter how much he wanted to. Instead, he locked himself inside a stall, tucked his feet up onto the toilet seat and stayed there until Alastair told him they were leaving, half an hour later.  
  
_one month and four days after_  
  
Aaron was out walking Havoc when it happened. Havoc, as was now usual, was full of oddly subdued energy, chasing after squirrels but stopping midway. Aaron could understand that. The lack of motivation to complete something that had once been fun was a trait they had shared since Call’s death. Still, Havoc had to get some exercise, or else they’d all go truly crazy.  
  
He was watching Havoc as he trotted just in front of Aaron, and that was why he didn’t notice sooner. Aaron wasn’t sure what he would have done differently if he had seen Anastasia before he was too close to get away, but he’d like to it was better than what he did.  
  
“Hello, Aaron.”  
  
He jolted, not having noticed the assemblywoman. “Uh, h-hi, Ms. Tarquin. What are you doing out here?”  
  
“I needed to speak with you,” she said, as if that wasn’t incredibly ominous when said in the woods with no one else around. “Care to talk?”  
  
“Um, okay.” Havoc, as if sensing Aaron was growing tense, came to stand by his legs, circling around him.  
  
“I’ll be blunt here. I do not care about you. I think that if it weren’t for you, my son would still be alive today, not killed by my fool of a stepson.”  
  
Aaron blinked. “Your- son? Call wasn’t-”  
  
He cut himself off, making a realization. “You’re not Call’s mother. You’re Constantine’s.”  
  
Anastasia, if that even was her real name, sniffed disdainfully. “They are one and the same, even if Call lacked Constantine’s memories.”  
  
“Why are you talking to me, then?” Aaron tried to stall as he thought of a plan. Right now, it was “yell at Havoc to bite her and run like hell”.  
  
“Because you are a Makar, and because you were Con’s friend. His counterweight,” she said softly, her voice growing a smidge fonder. “And that means that you are useful to us. Not only that, but we are useful to you.”  
  
Fuck. Aaron was intrigued by Anastasia’s words. Not good. “…What would I be able to do that would benefit you?”  
  
She smiled, and Aaron got the distinct feeling that he was the fly who had fallen into her web. “When Constantine died, he was only days away from a breakthrough. He would have been able to bring back Jericho. And now, with his notes, you might be able to bring back him.”  
  
Aaron’s first thought was: _so this is how they get you_. Call, alive again. Or in Constantine’s case, Jericho, alive again. No insanity was necessary. Just a counterweight’s death. He noted again the constant ache in his chest, imagined how it would ease if Call had lived...  
  
Even as he told himself he shouldn’t do it, shouldn’t make history’s mistakes, Aaron could see the appeal. Call would be back. And if Call was back… he could clear his conscious. Tell him everything he’d ever wanted to say. But honestly, just knowing that Call would be alive, even if he hated Aaron forever, would be enough for him.  
  
He met Anastasia’s gaze. Havoc growled, but Aaron ignored it. His choice had been made, for better or worse.  
  
“I’ll do it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [nonbinary-androids](https://nonbinary-androids.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, where I post too much stuff about the Magisterium. It's a good time!


End file.
